Affirmation
by InuChanFan
Summary: Peeta wants more than a one word answer to whether or not Katniss loves him. Written after the end of Mockingjay. Lemon. Read and Relax.


**I got a number of requests to write a second Peeta and Katniss story, so I did. This one is also set after the end of book 3. I hope you like it. Please R&R.**

**Affirmation**

It has been a week since she confessed her feelings to me, though she has yet to say the words I want to hear. It was right after the first time we'd made love. I wanted to know if her feelings were that of love, and she said they were. Though it was wonderful news, I had hoped she would have given more than a one-word answer. I have told her everything about my life and my love for her. But she has told me nothing beyond the fact that her love for me is real.

I want her confession to be enough, but instead I feel even more empty and lost. I need to know what kind of love she has for me. There are so many times. I doubt it's the completely head over heels love I feel for her, otherwise she would have said something more than "Real."

Perhaps it is purely physical. Her confession was so perfectly timed after several orgasms. How can I tell if she's in love with my body or me? We've been together a few times since, yet I don't feel secure enough in that part of our relationship to distinguish between love and lust.

Or is it possible that she feels the same as I do? We've been through so much. Perhaps I've been patient and persistent enough to convince her that I'm worth her consideration. _Perhaps I've finally jumped through enough hoops, _something inside me says_._

I hate this. It feels like she's toying with me. I need to get out of this house, her house. It's too claustrophobic. I need to get out of here and go somewhere I can think. I want to go to the bakery, but it was destroyed in the firebombing. I want to talk to my father and my brothers, but my family is dead. My friend from school, Delly, would know what to say, but she fled District 12. There is nobody to turn to, nowhere to go.

I walk to the bakery anyway. Well, I walk to the place where it used to be. If you'd never lived in District 12, you would have a hard time telling that this piece of rubble used to be a bakery, a shop and my former home. The floor is still intact and some of the ovens are there, though most of them have warped and blackened from the heat of the firebombs. Beyond that, there is nothing but burnt wood and ash.

_This is her fault. _No! I mustn't think that. Katniss was unconscious in a hospital in District 13 when the bombs fell. _But her actions over the last two years pissed off Snow enough for him to give the order. _My own actions didn't help. I stood by her and created one controversy after another through my actions and interviews with Caesar.

I quickly realize that I need to get away from this place. It's only making me more upset. I meander through town aimlessly. Some of the men cleaning the debris come out to greet me. They are all still so excited to see one of victors of the Hunger Games, the alleged love and fake husband of the Mockingjay. I want to be civil, but I brush them off. Today is not a good day for me to have courteous conversations.

I know I should return to the Victors Village, but I'm not ready to see her. I wish there was someplace else to go that is special to me, someplace where I can think. Sadly, there is not; everything has been destroyed. I walk back to the Victor's Village despite my desire to go elsewhere.

When I arrive, I'm still not ready to see Katniss. I haven't found any answers to my questions. Instead of facing the music, I walk straight past her house and into mine, hoping it will provide some sort of refuge. I haven't been inside for days. It feels like nobody lives here, which is highly accurate because for the large part of its existence, nobody has lived here. District 12 has had so few Victors. Even when I lived here, I was the only occupant and I spent most of my time in the bakery or Katniss's at any rate.

The house is laid out exactly as the others. They are all duplicates. I want mine to be different, but the only thing that sets it apart is the dust. There's a nice layer covering everything that has accumulated during my absence. I wonder if it would be worth cleaning, but I don't have the energy. Maybe Sae would be willing to clean this place too when she has a chance. I'll have to ask. Even though it's empty, it shouldn't fall apart. There are enough things falling apart in this town as it is.

Despite the dust, I sit on the couch. It's not as comfortable as the one in Katniss's living room. Nobody ever spent any real time on my couch, so it was never been broken in.

Sitting in this house, I lose track of time. Thoughts rush in and out of my head. If I let them, they could make me dizzy from their lightning-fast speeds. Hours pass without being acknowledged as my mind wanders through the events of the last two years. I have a firm grasp on the reality of most things, but there are still a few memories I can't sort out. Sometimes flashbacks run through my brain uncontrollably, an intermixed slew of real and fake. When that happens as it is right now, I lose the ability to tell what's genuine.

Dinnertime approaches and I'm getting hungry. I get up from the couch and walk to the dinner table. This is where the food should be, but no food comes. Why is that? It's her house, isn't it? Where are Sae and her granddaughter? Where are Katniss and Haymitch? There are always people in this house around dinner. People always gather around her. I don't understand.

In my moment of confusion, a memory begins to play. Katniss and I are in the jungle during the Quarter Quell, and she's coming after me with a knife. I catch her arm to prevent her from stabbing my chest. She struggles, but she's not strong enough to loosen my grip. I quickly take the knife from her, and push her away, leaving her unarmed and defenseless. At least I hope so. Her eyes glare at me as if she were an animal hunting for prey.

"Katniss, what are you doing?" I ask desperately. "We are supposed to be allies…" We're supposed to be a lot more than that: start-crossed lovers, victors, friends, teens who often share a bed completely clothed. Yet none of that seems to register with her.

"You're the last thing standing between me and my train ticket home," she says after a moment.

With her hands outstretched reaching for my throat, she lunges at me again. Though I am twice her size, I know how painful a hit from her can be. The events after my first interview with Caesar quickly surface. She can do some real damage if she puts her mind to it, and that look in her eyes tells me that her mind is completely set on attacking me.

I quickly dodge her and ask, "What about the others? Finnick, Beatie, Johanna? They're still in the game!"

"Not for long. Finnick will take care of the others before he joins them," she responds coyly.

She couldn't possibly have formed a secondary alliance with Finnick, especially not one where he takes his own life in the end. Could she really have that much power over him? Where did that leave me in all this? I wanted her to be the one who lived, but I never thought it would happen like this. Part of me had quietly dreamed that we might be able to pull some sort of quick escape, just like last time. _Maybe it's still possible?_ But I know I shouldn't be thinking that far into the future. Right now, the important thing is to stay alive long enough figure out what the hell is going on!

"What game are you playing, Katniss? This was supposed to be you and me to the end."

"It is. I'm just getting a little more help in the middle."

"So what's the plan, Katniss? You're going to kill me? What about the baby?"

She laughs in a horribly cruel way and responds, "Don't be ridiculous, Peeta. Did you ever think there could be anything more between us after this?"

I know the line about the baby was just for show, but I still stop dead in my tracks. I had hoped…but that's clearly not an option now. She lunges at me again, and this time I'm not fast enough to stop her from slicing my upper arm. I've had cuts like this before. My brothers were known for being a little too careless with some of the knives at the bakery, and I always got in the way. The pain ought to be immense, but it's just a small tingling. This isn't right. _Only a weakling could provide such a pathetic blow, _my subconscious growls_._

I am forced out of the memory when my front door slams. She's walked in without knocking. _That's just like her… so rude._

"Peeta." She calls searching for me. I make no attempt to reveal my location, but she quickly finds me sitting at the dining room table anyway.

"Are you alright?" she asks from the other side of the table.

"You really are a piece of work," I murmur back. I feel like I've said those words before, but I'm not sure where. She looks a little shocked. Good. I want her as uncomfortable as me right now. I can't believe the nerve. She's clearly come to try to kill again.

"What's going on? Where have you been?"

"Like you really care," I breathe. I'm sure she enjoyed the hunt. _No use killing something unless you're going to enjoy it, right?_

"Peeta," she says in a completely faked voice of confusion.

She starts walking around the table, closing the distance between us. "Stop. Don't come any closer," I yell at her. This time she listens.

"Peeta, what's wrong? It's just me."

"That's the problem," I respond. "How do I know it's just you? Maybe it's just you and ten of your favorite hunting knives. Maybe it's just you being followed around by another camera crew, waiting to catch some good footage of you finishing me off."

"There's no camera crew. Look."

I don't want to listen to her at all, but I can't resist. I take a quick look around the room. There's nobody following her. But that doesn't mean there aren't people still outside. I stand and walk to the front window. All's clear.

"I'm on my own, here," she says from the dining room, submissively standing where I left her.

"That doesn't mean you haven't rigged the house with those mini cameras they use in the Games," I spit back. She's not going to convince me so easily. I know how effortlessly she can convince some poor idiot to do her dirty work. She once had me so tightly wound too.

"I didn't."

"How do I know?" I respond.

"Listen," she tells me cryptically.

"To what?" I say impatiently. My anger is starting to win me over, and I don't care if she knows.

"All those mini cameras make a quiet humming sound. Do you hear any of that?"

No I don't. The only noise I hear apart from her treasonous voice is the sound of crickets coming out to chirp. She may be telling the truth about that point, but I still don't trust her.

"What about all your knives?" I ask.

"I don't have any knives with me," she says holding up her hands, like I'd really expect someone so devious to reveal their arsenal so quickly.

"I don't believe you."

"Search me," she says as the lifts her arms higher above her head. It's an interesting thought. I have memories of us together, doing things that I always dreamed of doing with a woman. But this is what she wants, so there must be a catch. She must be drawing me in to take advantage of the situation.

"If I come near you, you'll take it as an opportunity to attack me."

"I won't. I'm unarmed," she pleads pathetically.

"So you say."

"What can I do to prove it to you?" she asks is what sounds like a vain attempt at desperation.

"Nothing," I reply coldly.

She doesn't like my response, and she quickly makes that known. She takes off her jacket and throws it across the room, nearly hitting me in the head. "Check that and tell me if you find any knives!" she practically screams at me. Any attempt of hiding her anger at me is failing. _There's the Katniss I know, hot headed and violent._

She then takes off her shoes and hurls them at me yelling, "Check these too!"

I don't like receiving commands from her, but I'm curious. She's being so insistent. I check her jacket and her boots. There's nothing there but an unusually high amount of lint in her pockets and a little too much mud stuck to the soles of her shoes. She never did learn how to treat anything with proper care.

"And while you're at it," she fumes," why don't I just turn out all of my pockets?" When that is done, she lifts the bottom half of her shirt up and places it over her chest to show she has nothing hidden in her beltline. She then starts to turn, spinning as if she were a model on display in a shop window.

It's then that I notice something odd. The scar on her arm that stood out in my mind like a single cloud floating through an otherwise perfect sky is nowhere to be seen. If this Katniss ever had been scared there, it was now covered with burns. But still, that isn't enough to make a solid conclusion. How do I know if this is the real Katniss? I can't be sure without a closer inspection.

I walk up to her against my better judgment. She stops spinning as she notices my approach. I hope she understands how much danger she's in right now. I'm twice her size and three times stronger. If she tries to make a move, I will stop her. My options vary, but I can always strike her down, push her into the wall behind her, throw her down the hall, or wrap my hand around her throat. Any of those would be fine against this murderer.

Thankfully she doesn't move. Her shirt is still stuck halfway folded up her body. I can see the top of her pants where she normally clips some pocketknives. She doesn't have anything there, but I don't know what else she could be hiding. Touching her is the least appealing thing in my mind, but I quickly touch the spaces where pockets are. Her pants have six pockets, and I feel something in two of them.

"Take them off," I say to her gesturing at her pants. She doesn't make any motion to do as instructed; she just stares at me with that fake confusion she portrays so well. "You said I should search you," I continue, but she still doesn't move.

I don't have time for this. It's getting late and I haven't eaten since breakfast. If she won't do this, I will. I reach out, take off her belt, and undo her button and zipper. Her pants are a little too large, so they fall straight to the floor. As I reach down to get them, so obediently steps out of them without my instruction.

Inside her front right pocket, I find a several pieces of bark. She would be carrying dead tree parts with her. In the back pocket, I find herbs she's gathered in the woods earlier today. Annoyed, I throw the content of her pockets away down the hall. She tries to hide it, but she jumps slightly at the sound the plants hitting the floor.

I look back to her. She seems more unsteady than before, maybe even frightened. _What a good actress, _my inner self reassures me_. _ I'm sure she's still hiding something, but where? The only clothes left on her body are her underwear and her shirt. I remember how some of our female patrons at the bakery used to hide money in their bra. It seems unlikely that she would hide anything there, but I have to know.

My hands find her chest. For some reason, this bothers me more than the previous searches I've just conducted. I know I've touched her here before, but this is not the same. All the memories I have of touching her here were different. They were not as rough and distrusting as it is now. This feels wrong on more levels than I'm comfortable with, despite what my other half is telling me.

At my touch, tears begin to roll down her face. Now I know this isn't right. Not only do I not find anything, but also I know that only the real Katniss cries; and she only when something is horribly wrong. Wait…that must mean… I pull my hands off her immediately and look at her with astonishment.

"You remember what you told me when we were in the Capitol," she asks quietly.

I said many things during our four visits to the Capitol, but I know exactly what she means. She wants to know if I remember my comment on pain. Before I have a chance to respond, she slaps me hard across the face, and I welcome it. This pain confirms my worst suspicion. This is real; there's no doubt in my mind. I can't feel pain properly in any of my fake memories. _Oh, Katniss, what have I done?_

"Katniss?" I ask, much more timidly than before. My other half has completely vanished, and it's just me left to clean up this mess. I look down at the ground, unable to meet her eyes again. She must think I'm the worst person on the planet. She tried to convince me over and over that this was real and I wouldn't listen. This is exactly what Dr. Aurelius warned me about before he gave permission for me to come home.

"What?" she seethes back at me.

"I'm sorry… I thought…" my words fail. I'm panicking. I can't believe I've hallucinated so badly that I just forced her clothes off her like some criminal.

"Well you were wrong," she huffs while tears roll down her cheeks.

I know I was wrong. I fall to my knees, my legs literally giving out under me for the first time in my life as the anguish for my actions becomes overwhelming. "Forgive me," I beg, tears streaming down my face as well. "I'm so sorry."

I know she doesn't want me to touch her now. How could she? Nevertheless, I need to touch her; I need to apologize. I wrap my arms around her legs, and obscure my face off to the side as I begin to cry and beg harder. She places her hand in my hair and begins stoking it. Why is she being so gentle with me?

"Peeta, what happened?" she asks calmly. "Please tell me."

How can I possibly explain that I thought she was here to kill me? What would she think if she knew these were my nightmares? How could she be near me knowing that I think such horrible things about her?

"I needed to get out of the house, so I went on a walk through town. I ended up here and lost track of time." It's not the full truth, but I hope it's enough to satisfy her.

She pulls on my arms, and I loosen them even though I think she's going to run. She sinks down to the floor and sits in front of me, looking me square in the eyes. "That's not what I'm asking," she said quietly. "What caused your hallucination?"

My instinct is to lie, yet I know there's no point. She knows me too well. She could spot me lying from hallway across town. It would just be a waste of time. "I'm not sure," I say cautiously. "I was confused about some things. It happened so quickly."

"What about your pain trick?" she asks.

"It was all so real; I didn't think to question it. And I can't use that trick unless I think I might need it. If I'm completely in a hallucination, I just have to wait for it to pass or until I'm snapped out of it."

She sits across from me on the hallway floor, contemplating everything that's just happened. I want to know what she's thinking, but she's wearing the best poker face I've ever seen. We sit in silence for a few minutes before she says, "You said you were confused about something and that that's what caused the hallucination."

"Yes," I say reluctantly, dreading her next question.

"What were you confused about?" she asks so innocently. Way to open a huge can of worms. I want to tell her it's nothing, but she'll know it's a lie. Still, I cannot make her distrust me any more today.

"You won't like it," I respond, praying that she'll move on to another topic. Nevertheless, Katniss is too headstrong for that and I should know better.

"I haven't liked a lot of things that have happened today," she says sternly. "But tell me anyway."

I have to tell her the truth, but I can't mention everything. Honestly, I don't think I recite the events of my hallucination without going crazy again. There are a few moments of silence between us before I say, "I wasn't sure if you loved me," as quietly as possible.

Shock returns to her face and I know I've disappointed her again. I can feel her body tense from my lack of faith in her. This isn't want I wanted! I shouldn't have said anything.

"I told you it was real," she whispers.

"Yes, and I am so happy that you love me back. But you only told me once, and that was days ago." Even now I feel as if I've overstepped my bounds.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want to force you into saying it again because I didn't want to push you away," I say earnestly.

"You never could push me away," she urges, but how can that be true? She reaches out to me affectionately, rubbing my arm where the knife slashed me in my dream, and I feel as though I should pull away. I don't deserve her kindness.

"Even after what I've done? After what I've literally just done a few moments ago?" I argue.

"I'm not running," she says adamantly. She leans in to me, finally closing the distance between us, a distance that feels so large it could have separated entire districts. She pulls me in towards her and hugs me.

"Because you love me?" I breathe into her ear.

"Yes."

I feel somewhat comforted, not only by her presence by also by her perseverance. Yet there's still a gaping hole expanding in my chest, becoming more painful by the second. She's managed to bring me back to the present, to who I really am, but she still hasn't fixed the problem that caused all this.

"You love me but you still won't say it," I murmur before I can control myself. It's what I've wanted to say for days, but I never found a time when we were both alone and being completely honest.

"I just did," she says in a tone of confusion.

"You know what I mean, Katniss," I respond both agitated and nervous.

She looks at me, willing me to understand her side, but all I hear are my questions and doubts resurfacing. This is too much. I stand and walk down the hall to the kitchen. I rest my hands on the counter, grateful for the support it provides. She follows me, as I knew she would.

"Peeta," she sighs. "What happened to not pushing things?" This is making her uncomfortable, but I can't stop myself from pushing the issue further. I need answers. She comes up behind me and begins rubbing my back to keep me calm.

"I tried that and look where it got us? Why is it so hard for you to just tell me?" I lean forward into the counter, effectively moving further away from her.

She stops moving her hands and wraps her arms around me. She rests her head between my shoulder blades. It's almost as if she's trying to secure me in place to deliver some bad news. If she is, know what it will be. I know she'll tell me that the whole thing, our whole relationship, meant nothing. I just hope I'm prepared, for I am not sure what I might do.

"I love you," she whispers into my back, and my muscles tense. "I have loved you since the moment I pulled you out of the mud in the arena."

I'm thankful she can't see my face because I'm gaping at her confession; that is not what I expected. "Why did you never say anything?"

"It's difficult to be honest about what you want when everyone has their own ideas about who you should be and what you should do with your life. I couldn't say anything without hurting someone, so I didn't say anything."

"You still could have told me," I urge her, "I can keep a secret."

"And then what would have happened if Gale came up to you and started talking about me? I know you. You might have said something to make him step down and it would have turned into a huge fight. I couldn't let that happen." She was right. I would have defended her love for me ten times more than my love for her, especially knowing what I know now.

Without another word, I pull her arms off my torso. I turn around and secure her head between my hands as I lean in to kiss her. She cannot get away from me now, or I will literally fall to pieces. Hearing those words, that honesty, I know what she meant when she said her love for me was real.

I push into her, slightly knocking her off balance and forcing her to back into the counter. She puts her hands on the edges and hoists herself up to sit on the ledge. We pull apart momentarily as she readjusts only to ram back together once she's situated.

Her hand snakes down to my pants. The pressure is amazing. I push my hips forward, intensifying the sensation. I moan loudly into her mouth between kisses, and I feel her smiling back against my lips.

I break away from her mouth so I can move down her neck. The feel of her skin beneath my lips is intoxicating, but I need more. Only her shirt and underwear stand between me and my goal, yet I'm reluctant to remove them. It was just ten minutes again that I had forced her to take of all her other clothes, and that was in a much less loving manner.

My hand twitches slightly at the thought. I want so badly to touch her, to make amends for my previous actions, to replace rough gestures with kind ones, but I won't without her permission.

"Katniss," I groan as my unaffected hand plays with the hem of her shirt. "I…" words fail me again.

She understands, regardless, and removes her top. "It's okay," she says. "Just be gentle."

I nod. Her shirt barely hits the floor before I attack her neck once more. This time I aim lower, falling more in the territory of her clavicle. I'm just a few inches away from my target, and her hands are in my hair pushing me down further. I cannot resist.

My mouth lands on her breast, all but devouring it. She is so soft beneath my ragged hands. It's one of the many reasons I find it so hard to keep away. Moans fill the room as I massage and kiss and suck her breasts. She uses all her strength to hold me in place, as if I would be anywhere else right now.

My shirt comes off next as she tugs it over my head. I move off her chest momentarily before returning. As my mouth finds her again, I up the ante and place my hand between her legs. The sounds she makes so natural and wanton, but still completely feminine and sexy. How does she do that?

My hand works steadily over the areas I'm learning she likes best. I must be hitting the right spot because she keeps rolling her hips into me, begging for more. As I push harder, she begins to moan louder.

As my hands work on her, her fingers begin dancing all over my back. They trace up and down my spine, massaging my muscles while I massage hers. Suddenly her hands move to my belt, then the button of my pants, then the zipper. Soon there is nothing left between us but her underwear, and I quickly dispense of those.

Our hands and mouths are moving frantically now. We're both fluttering around what we want most, both unsure who will be the next one to make a move. Not wanting to force her, I decide it should be her. A few moments later she says, "please," and I can't do anything else.

I enter her slowly, being as gentle as my body allows. We move in unison. That wonderful feeling starts to build, but the position is awkward. The counter is too tall, even with my above average height. I want to move somewhere more comfortable where I can make love to her. This feels too impersonal, and she deserves better. She deserves more, especially after all I've just put her through.

She wraps her legs around me, silently saying she feels the same. I pick her up and carry her to living room. The look on her face as I move while buried inside her shows the effect I'm having on her. She loves this.

We fall ungracefully to the couch. I would have preferred her in a bed, but we would never have made it up the stairs like this. Once we're situated on the couch, I begin moving again. I return to my slow pace, but even with the distance between us lessened and the awkwardness caused by our position removed, it's not enough.

I need her fast and hard, and I need it now. This time I don't wait for permission. I feel guilty about breaking my promise to be gentle. I expect Katniss to be upset, but if she is, I can't tell. It looks more as if she's enjoying this.

Katniss moans louder the harder I push into her. She won't last much longer, and neither will I.

She tries to meet me, but I'm moving too fast. I can't help myself. I need to bury what just happened between us, and burying myself in her is doing wonders.

The sensation inside is building much quicker now. I push into her harder than ever before, and she screams out her love for me. We don't last another five seconds before we're both overcome with our relief.

I collapse on top of her, securing her beneath me just in the off chance she decides to run. When we finally catch our breath, I look at her and tell her that if I ever behave like that again she should hit me outright. She shouldn't wait for me to attack her. She laughs lightly and remarks "But then we can't have makeup sex."

I smile. Since when did she get so good with words? She's always full of surprises. It's one of the other reasons I love her.

I pull her closer and kiss her once more. As I revel in the high of my orgasm, I begin to realize that now I get to start discovering all the reasons she loves me back. And for the first time in years, I'm excited to start a new game.

The End.

**I hope you liked it. Please review!**


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